Loving Jack Frost
by Poofable
Summary: "I don't want to be warm. I want to be nipped at all night by Jack Frost." Loving him is dangerous, out of control and even lonely. And, somehow, I'm okay with this. (ONESHOT.)


_**Loving Jack Frost**_

"_Jack._"

Loving Jack is like loving Superman. There are so many possibilities with him.  
_What if he gets sick of visiting me in this hot weather? What if he gets hurt while being a Guardian?_

And then there's the worst thought of all: _What if he leaves one night and never comes back?_

Because of those worries, _loving Jack_ is dangerous. He doesn't visit nightly, but I see much evidence of his presence. During the summer, I live in one of the hottest places in the United States, so it's rare to catch him. However, I often get a splash of frost on the window, a cool breeze in the middle of summer, a cold kiss on the cheek in those short moments before I fall asleep.

But it's _because I love_ Jack that I love everything he stands for. I embrace the winter weather, long for the coldest days of the year. While my friends are going nuts over snow days, I'm standing there waiting for him to come, knowing that he has left me a sign.

And _I have loved Jack_ since the first day I saw him as a five year old. It is his love in return that keeps me believing.

Now, he's here. There's frost on my window. Jack Frost has paid me a visit.

"Jack," I whisper.

Instead of seeing frost, I see him crouching at my window. One hand holds his staff; the other is pressed against the pane, asking me to let him in. I scramble out of the bed and slide the glass up as quickly as I can.

He doesn't come in, however. "So, this weather, eh?" he asks, a lopsided grin on his face and his hand in his pocket. He looks up, and all around us are falling snowflakes. My look of joy must inspire him, because he gives one tilt of his staff and they begin forming shapes: unicorns in carousels, glints of starlight, dancing girls.

I catch one with my open palms, and it melts into my skin. I glance up at him, say, "Is this my Christmas present?" I pause. "Because, you know, last year you threw a snowball at my face."

"Who said that we can't ever have a little fun?" he asks, giving me that heart stopping, mischievous smile he's so famous for. He still doesn't come in; instead, he sits there and twirls his staff, his attention momentarily away from me. When he locks eyes with me again, he says, "Besides, you're eighteen now. You deserve something beautiful, not kiddish."

"Well, they're definitely beautiful." The snowflakes are still falling, crystallizing into the most aweing shapes. I joke, "Kiddish is your forte. Is the great Jack Frost saying that he's…_changing? _For me?"

Jack scoffs, floats a little away from the window. Though my heart is pounding and my head is saying, "_What if?" _I somehow know that he isn't leaving me. Not now.

"Stay with me tonight, Jack," I tell him.

"And let North catch me in bed with you?" he asks jokingly. "Thanks, but no thanks. Tomorrow's Christmas. You probably have a big day planned for you. I'm not keeping you up tonight."

When he realizes he's hurt my feelings, he drifts towards the window again. "Hey now," he says, helpless. He grabs my hands, and even though he's cold as ice, I have never welcomed anything more than I have welcomed his touch. I look up at him. One corner of his lips upturns reassuringly, and again I get to see that lopsided smile. "I'm sorry. It isn't because I don't want to. You know I'm a busy man."

"I know." I _do _know, and I've already accepted. That doesn't mean it's any less painful, though.

"Look, I'll even come in this time," he says. I step aside (I'm ridiculously happy, because he _never _comes in…well, not that I've _seen_) and he slips through the window, a chilling breeze coming in with him. His bare feet are silent on my hardwood floors as he goes to my bed and sits down cross-legged.

Like a child, I approach him timidly. I sit down on one his legs and curl up in his lap, playing with the ends of his blue jacket. When I lay my head on his shoulder, I smell the mint, the coldness of outside. "Have you ever been to a Winter Formal before?"

"What's that?" he asks, looking content and not too concerned about my question.

"It's a school dance," I explain. "The boys are supposed to ask the girls to the dance. The girls dress up in pretty dresses. When we get there, we socialize. We dance. It's a really magical thing."

Jack raises one eyebrow. "Do you have a dress?" His eyes glance around the room, searching for my apparel.

"I do," I say, glad that he asked. I slide from his lap and skip to the closet, pulling the pale dress from the closet. Although shorter, fluffier dresses don't suit my figure, the instant I saw it in the store I knew I had to have it. It reminded me of his ice blue eyes. I press it to my body and twirl in it. "Do you like it?"

He stares at the dress for a moment. "What about a date? Do you have one of those too?"

"Jack, I asked you about the _dress_."

Still cross-legged, he floats from my bed and closer to me, his narrowed eyes scrutinizing my face. Dumbfounded, I step back a few paces, and then he retreats, grinning. "Yeah, but I asked you about the date," he says playfully.

I glare at him, holding the dress close to me. "And so what if I do?" I challenge. Sighing, I put the dress back in the closet, knowing that the only response I was going to get was his ten-second stare. "I've been asked."

Jack can see right through me. "That doesn't mean you've accepted," he says. He glides into my peripheral vision, hanging at the edge of my closet and then sits patiently until I'm done hanging the dress. "You haven't accepted anyone, have you?"

I hesitate for a moment. I want him to want me so _badly_. I want to play coy, to make him long for me more than he ever has before. But I can't lie to him. "No," I answer, grumbling beneath my breath. When he gets this smug look on his face, I'm even more dissatisfied by my inability to be as mischievous as him.

I turn around, and then I startle when I find him hovering right in front of my face.

"I'll dance with you," he says. He reaches up and touches my face gently, and for a split second, I flinch at his touch. And then, feeling more comfortable than I ever have before, I lean into his hand and give him my warmth. He adds, "You don't deserve to dance by yourself. That dress is too pretty for you to be alone."

My eyes soften. "I don't want to be alone."

I can tell from the look in his eyes that I have said a lot more: _I don't want YOU to leave me alone, Jack. You're leaving me alone. Please tell me that you're going to see me again, because if you don't, I'll cry myself to sleep thinking that you're never coming back._

"Thirteen years I've been around," he says, giving a short laugh. "I think you deserve _one_ dance."

That hits me. _Thirteen years_. For thirteen years, I have been chasing the dream that is Jack Frost, the wonder boy with the snowy white hair and the mischievous streak a mile long. "Jack—"

Suddenly, he flies to the window, gives me a wave and a smile, and drops downwards. My heart leaps into my throat, and as I rush to the window, I wish and wish with all of my might that he has not left me for the night, that he does not have to go just yet.

I slide the glass up higher and lean out, searching desperately for any sign of him. And then I feel a breath of wind, and then he comes up from below me and gives me a kiss on the nose. He pulls back several inches and, very softly, he tells me, "You've been nipped on the nose. It's cold out tonight. Stay warm for me?"

I don't want to be warm. I want to be nipped at all night by Jack Frost.

He knows I'm about to voice my thoughts, so he says, "Would you do it for a kiss?"

His lips are cold, but they're the softest thing I have ever touched. I lean further out of the window to push into him, and he floats forward, pushing back. Despite our very heated encounters in the past, this kiss is the most innocent and loving kiss I have ever received from him. And again, I am reminded just how lucky I am to love him, how wonderful it is to be a believer.

"Don't catch a cold," he whispers, centimeters from my lips.

"If I do, I'll know Jack Frost has paid me a visit," I whisper back.

Jack gives me one last kiss, and then he drifts backwards. His figure is stunning against the moonlight, and I realize just how beautiful he is. Smirking, he gives me a casual salute. "As I said, I am a very busy man," he says. "Duties as a Guardian, y'know."

I smile softly. "I understand."

In a split second, he's pecked my cheek and flown away again. "I knew you would."

I watch in amazement as Jack Frost flies off into the night, his pale skin gleaming in the moonlight and his white hair flying back from his perfect face. He circles the sky, zips back and forth as he traverses a land I've never explored.

He may be immortal, but I don't care. Until he stops loving me, I will be content with keeping his picture beneath my pillow. I may never be able to tell my friends who my long distance boyfriend is, may never be able to explain why his hair is like snow or why his hands are cold as ice, and I may never be able to take him to the Winter Formal.

We cannot get married or have children. I might have to spend the rest of my life as an aging woman, remembering the night that Jack Frost first stole a kiss from me, the night that we first made love. And, surprisingly, that's fine with me.

_Jack Frost promised me a dance._ I sigh contentedly, leaning into the windowsill as I watch his small form disappear behind the moon. I cannot keep the smile off of my face.

I hope he comes back soon. He is a _Guardian_, a protector of the hopes and dreams of small children. Yet, many people don't know that Jack Frost is the one who keeps me alive, the one who keeps me wishing on a star that we will somehow…_someday…_be together forever. I may not see him for days, weeks, or even months. But Jack Frost has saved me. He has given me life.

Loving Jack Frost is like loving Superman, because he is my hero.

**End of _Loving Jack Frost_**


End file.
